


Understanding

by Raven_Tio



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Confusion, Emotions, M/M, Rain, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:35:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29818824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Tio/pseuds/Raven_Tio
Summary: It has been a while... but I am still writing.Mostly my own stuff now. But every once in a while... well, read it yourself.It's Sherlock beeing Sherlock.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Understanding

**Understanding**

People always assume, there is a lot of rain in London. There isn’t. But that evening it seemed to go on forever. Raindrops were dancing through the air, driven by heavy wind and eventually they hit the floor or the window as loud as they could. John Watson was sitting in his chair, all alone in the living room of 221B Bakerstreet. And even though he did face the window, he was not watching the water that was drawing strange lines all over the glas. Yet he was listening. First with his focus on the sound of the rain, he told himself it would help to calm down but in the end, he lost himself to the melancholy that was growing stronger in his chest with every raindrop that hit the window.  
Long forgotten was the reason why he needed to calm down, when the thoughts overwhelmed him and almost made him cry. Something was wrong, was off the usual, but he had buried it deep down inside his own chest, ignorant, unwilling to accept the truth that was at hand.   
And now, there was the rain.  
And just as if he was one of the small drops, chased through the air by the cold evening wind, he couldn’t help but eventually hit the wall of truth. But no matter how predictable that moment was, nothing could prepare him for the pain that was growing in his chest like a balloon, pressing against his lungs, preventing him from breathing properly.

“What took you so long, I said, I need help.”  
“Sherlock, I came as fast as I could-”, Greg Lestrade wanted to answer, but he was cut off by a raised hand.  
“I don’t care, it’s important.”  
“Waht i-”  
“John. It’s about John.”, Sherlock cut off the detective once more. His look was serious and Lestrade stood straight, when he realised, what he had just heard.   
“Sherlock, what happened, where is he?”, Greg asked immediately and watched the sorrow, that grew stronger on Sherlocks face.   
“Bakerstreet, in his chair. Greg, he doesn’t answer to anything I say.”  
Pushing away the astonishment about Sherlock using his real name, Lestrade shared the look of sorrow for a moment. While he took a long silent breath, his hands slid into the pockets of his jacket and his shoulders went up a bit.  
“Well, you do just the same, sometimes for two days.”  
“Yeah, but that is something else. I am thinking he is…”  
“What?”  
“Suffering…”, Sherlock finally mumbled between clenched teeth. His sorrow was real, so was his confusion, when Greg started to smile.

“He is useless, but you… you know sentiment!”, he proclaimed proudly and smiled, while Molly Hooper just looked at him, with disappointment.  
“I think you should go.”  
“But I need your help. I don’t know what to do.”  
“You’ll find a way. You always do.”  
“This time is different.”  
“Why?”  
“Because it is about John.”, he explained, while his face was darkened with sorrow once more. Yet Molly started to smile, the way Greg did, just with a hint of sadness.  
“He is not talking. Just sits in his chair, ignoring me, staring at the window.”  
She shook her head, seemed disappointed and yet somehow amused.  
“For how long?”  
“Twenty minutes… well… two hours now, since I wasted time asking Lestrade for help.”  
“And?”  
“And what?”, he snarled in his usual way.  
“And Sherlock Holmes, what else did you see. Famous detective, can’t you figure it out by yourself?”

She was mocking him. Of course she was. But even Sherlock, at that very moment, felt like she had every right to do so. Nevertheless he tossed the matter aside with an angry movement of his hand and stormed outside, leaving Molly to finish up her own work. His dark curls were still wet from the rain, when the door fell shut behind him. The cobblestones glistening yellow, orangish under the street lamps. Once Sherlock had straightened up his collar, put his hands back deep into the pockets of his coat, his mind went deep into his mind-palace.   
_‘What else did you see?’_ Mollys voice was but a distant whisper. Pushing his thoughts deep into the part of his consciousness until he couldn’t feel the cold rain anymore. His eyes focused on him. John. Sitting in his chair, staring at the window, jaw clenched.  
 _What else?_  
The shirt was ironed. Expensive. So were the trousers. Shoes.  
“John doesn’t wear shoes, when he just sits.”  
“What?”  
He blinked and looked around, straight in the face of Mrs Hudson.  
“Where do you come from?”  
“I live here, Sherlock.”  
“Oh?”  
He was indeed in her flat. Back in Bakerstreet.  
“That explains the smell.”  
“Mr. Holmes! If you are here to insult me, you may as well go upstairs and do so by yourself.”, she muttered and pointed upstairs.  
“Although that would be very insensitive of you given the day.”, Mrs Hudson added.  
“Day?”  
“Yes. You know. Your anniversary?”  
He stared at her with a blank expression.  
“Oh Sherlock. Don’t tell me you forgot.”  
“I never forget.”  
“Well then? Get up there, take your boyfriend out on the date, you promised him.”  
“Oh…”

“Oh? That’s all you have to say?”, John said from across the room. His shoulder leaning at the doorframe, eyes set on detective and Landlady.  
“You look well today, John.”  
“And you look like a wet Idiot.”  
He did. As one would after walking through the rain for hours.  
“Mrs Hudson, would you be so kind as to put the kettle on for a cuppa? I need to get my soon-to-be-husband into the shower, before he gets ill.”  
While the old woman nodded with a muffled chuckle, John put his hands onto Sherlocks wet shoulders and pushed him outside and upstairs.  
“We are not engaged…?”, he said with hesitation in his voice.  
“We would be by now, if you had remembered our date.”  
“Oh.”  
Well, it took him a little more than four hours, but Sherlock finally understood, while John was dragging him into the shower.

It wasn’t quite what John had planned. But in the end there was a ring on that idiot's finger and one of them was kneeling in front of the other.


End file.
